


Momentum

by ofvanity



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Sports, Animal Abuse, Frottage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-11
Updated: 2012-06-11
Packaged: 2017-11-07 12:25:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/431171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofvanity/pseuds/ofvanity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Saturday morning, Alex is sitting with Scott at the breakfast table when his coach calls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Momentum

**Author's Note:**

> A cross between "cute fluff featuring Charles teaching Alex something intellectual that he doesn't think he can understand, a student/teacher relationship," and a "high school pining across the hallway drama."

Charles has decided it was fate.   
  
Pressed into the shelves of the historical nonfiction books in the library, kissing Alex Summers into oblivion, it could only have been fate. Which, might say something about him as a person, the fact he believes his fate is to tongue Alex Summers within an inch of his life, but it doesn’t particularly bother him. If it is his destiny, he’s fulfilled it. Just as he means to inform Alex of this, Alex bucks his hips into Charles and grinds down roughly. Charles forgets his train of thought almost instantly.   
  
-   
  
Erik was dragging him out behind the school, with cigarettes already dangling out of his mouth as he urged Charles to follow. “Quit complaining, it’s just a quick fag.”   
  
Charles goes, glancing around for anyone watching and slinking away with him.  They aren’t even together for more than three minutes and as usual, Erik sees right through him. “Alright there?”   
  
“I’m fine. Just smoke your cigarettes and let’s go back, I’ve got a test next period.”   
  
“Stop pouting then,” Erik says, lighting two and offering one to Charles.   
  
“I don’t want any, smoke them both,” Charles dismisses. “And I’m not pouting.”   
  
“The fuck?” Erik exclaims, “I’m not going to smoke them  _both_ , you lunatic,” he says, but then inhales from both.   
  
Charles ignores him and relaxes into the wall. The concrete is cold but it distracts him in all the ways he wants right now. General Music was especially trying today.    
  
“Pouting is happening,” Erik announces.   
  
Charles huffs exasperatedly but Erik isn’t swayed. “Oh, what’s the matter? Didn’t you just get out of Music? You’re usually camping happy after that.”   
  
“The expression is ‘happy camper,’” Charles glares at him, “You can’t camp happily.”   
  
“I’ll do whatever I please in my designated camping area,” he blows smoke from both cigarettes all over the place. “What happened? Was that Summers kid absent or something?”   
  
“His name is Alex,” Charles provides.   
  
“Was our dear  _Alex_  absent, then?” Erik asks, stretching the vowels.   
  
“No.” Charles answers, waving a hand around to clear the smoke, “He asked for my name again.”   
  
Erik stares at him for a moment, before shouting, “Good fucking god! Can you get over this twat already? Can you? For me? For yourself? For the good of puppies?”   
  
Charles shrugs noncommittally but Erik doesn’t stop rambling to acknowledge him, “Look, listen, this is ridiculous. He is clearly a moron and you can do so much better. Coincidentally, there is a party tonight at Rock Cliff, and you know what, old friend,” he gestures between them elaborately, “We’re fucking going. I hereby declare you on the rebound. You are going to take advantage of a willing sophomore. Preferably a cheerleader, but that’s negotiable.”   
  
“Uh,” Charles begins.   
  
“Hey!” someone shouts and of course, it’s security coming towards them. “What are you two doing?”   
  
Erik turns to Charles, eye wide, “Run.”   
  
-   
  
“You’re staring.” Raven accuses without bothering to glance up from her lunch.   
  
Alex whips his head around and she’s eating carrots and smiling at them, which is just unacceptable. “I was not.”   
  
“Alex,” she pauses to chew, “bro. You’re a stalker. You probably know his blood type and his social security number.”   
  
Alex’s brow furrows,” I don’t think he has one. He’s not a natural born citizen. He might have a resident number.”   
  
“Wow,” Raven looks up, eyes wide, “that is so not the way to win this argument.”   
  
Alex whirls around in his seat to face her, “Are we arguing? You’re eating carrots and I’m considering U.S. immigration law. I wouldn’t call that arguing.”   
  
Raven rolls her eyes, “Tell me about tonight instead.”   
  
“It’s a party,” Alex provides.   
  
“Wow, I’m 45 seconds away from punching you.”   
  
“It’s at Rock Cliff.”   
  
“Forty-one,” she warns in sing-song.   
  
“Okay, alright,” he laughs. “Well, the way I figure it, if we lose tonight, we’ll want to get drunk,” Alex shoved his food around his plate, “But if we win, we’ll want to party. And if the game’s cancelled, then we have nothing better to do anyway.”   
  
“Oh,” Raven’s chewing starts up again. “You do realize your reasons for this party can be summed up into the word ‘because’ right?”   
  
“I’m prepared to accept those consequences.”   
  
“Alright, who’s going?”   
  
“Well, you’re not invited.”   
  
“Fifteen seconds.”   
  
“Raven, won’t you please come? You’re free to invite anyone you like, it’s not as much fun without you.”   
  
Raven smirks, “Good answer.”   
  
“Uh,” Alex continues, “the team, clearly, whoever else wants to come, you know, and it’s not like there’s a guest list and you have to RSVP.”   
  
“Are you inviting the guys from Schmidt?”   
  
“Only because coach would fry me if he finds out I didn’t,” Alex shrugs, “I couldn’t give a shit.”   
  
“Is Sean going?” she asks and before Alex can answer, Sean is taking the seat beside him.   
  
“No, Sean is not going,” he supplies. “Sean has a date with his older, brilliant, gorgeous, amazing college boyfriend. You losers can get as high as you want, I’ll be having fantastically acrobatic sex with a prodigy.”   
  
“How’s your knee?” Raven asks, passing him a carrot.   
  
“Not good enough to play, apparently.” Sean rolls his eyes at Alex melodramatically.   
  
“But good enough to have acrobatic sex?”   
  
“My body is always ready for acrobatic sex,” he says soberly, leaning across the table to steal more carrots. “Speaking of which, is Charles going?”   
  
“Oh, yeah, Alex,” Raven looks positively giddy. “You should invite Charles.”   
  
Alex jostles his food around, “What for?”   
  
“So you can talk to him, man. I’m sick of staring at your puppy dog eyes all the time. You have state championships tonight. Go for both. Go for the fucking gold.”   
  
Raven narrows her eyes in his directions. “That’s not exactly what that phrase means.”   
  
“Yeah,” Alex begins hesitantly. “That’s probably not a good idea anyway. I think he thinks I’m a moron.”   
  
Sean is immediately suspicious, eyebrows poised high, “What did you do?”   
  
“Nothing!” Alex protests, “I was just trying to get his attention.”   
  
“By doing?” Sean presses, carrots abandoned.   
  
“Asking his name.”   
  
“You already know his name.”   
  
“Alex, you moron,” Raven starts launching carrots at him furiously. “He’s going to think you don’t know who he is at all.”   
  
Alex dodges the carrots expertly. “It doesn’t matter. Every time I do it he looks like he hates me for existing!”   
  
“Every time,” Raven shouts, “how many times has this happened?”   
  
“Raven, stop, it doesn’t matter!” Alex exclaims.   
  
“It really doesn’t,” Sean adds, helpfully for a change.   
  
“Thank you!” Alex says, frustrated.   
  
“Yeah, I already invited Lehnsherr. You know they’re inseparable.”   
  
The bell rings and Sean scampers away innocently. Raven cackles at the look of absolute horror on Alex’s face.   
  
-   
  
Erik catches up with Charles after lunch, waving a pink slip of paper around excitedly and crowding him into his open locker. Charles raises an eyebrow, only glancing at the slip, “Is there any particular reason you’ve pushed your way into my personal space?”   
  
Erik grins maliciously, “I just got suspended, Charles,” he laughs and drapes himself all over Charles.   
  
Charles ducks out, under his arm and away. “That’s nothing. I ducked into the first classroom I saw. Guess what it was.” Erik opens his mouth—to make a snide comment, no doubt—but Charles cuts him off. “It was an informational session on the stupid Students Tutor program. I had sign up so the Assistant Principal wouldn’t call security and suspend me too. He was eyeing me Erik.  _Eyeing_ .”   
  
Erik shrugs, “So what, that’s your lunch period,” then begins disorganizing Charles’ books as his chosen vendetta.   
  
“For a semester,” Charles expands, batting his hands away.   
  
“Oh,” Erik pauses, “Damn. I’m only suspended for Monday.”   
  
Charles pushes him away indignantly, shoving his books into the more or less accurate order and closing his locker. “Why are you suspended anyway? You’re of age. We were off school property.”   
  
“Ah. You see, Charles, darling, you left me smoking _two_  cigarettes. They thought I was covering for you and I said,” he straightens and points dramatically to the sky. “A true man never gives away his comrades.”   
  
“So they suspended you,” Charles finishes.   
  
“So they suspended me.” Erik slumps.   
  
“I’m going home.”   
  
“Let’s. I’m famished. I’m going to eat all the food in your house.”   
  
“Groovy.”   
  
“I thought we talked about that word.”   
  
-   
  
Neither of them notices Alex watching their exchange from across the hall.   
  
-   
  
Charles is sitting on his kitchen floor with the fridge open, washing down left over chocolate cake with orange juice when Erik calls. On vibrate, his mobile rattles loudly and his puppy, Professor X, barks at it, perplexed. “Relax, Professor, it’s probably just Erik.”   
  
“I’m outside, are you dressed?”   
  
“Oh! Erik, how very nice of you to call. It’s only been,” Charles glances at his phone, “two and a half hours since we last spoke, I was starting to get the shakes for a moment there.”   
  
“Charles,” Erik drawls, “Don’t make me park my car.”   
  
“Oh good lord, don’t. Why are you outside?” Charles closes the orange juice and shoves it haphazardly into the fridge.   
  
“I came to pick you up for the party. I’ve got my stepdad’s car, let’s go.”   
  
“I’m in my pyjamas,” Charles replies lamely.   
  
“You sound like you expect me to care. I’ve left the engine running Charles, if you don’t get out here, I’ll expand our carbon footprints,” he teases in sing-song.   
  
“You wouldn’t!” Charles stands, shutting the door abruptly.   
  
“Polar bears are already endangered, Charles. Hurry it up.”   
  
“What’ll I tell my mum?”   
  
“Think of the seals,” Erik answers. “Hurry up. Don’t wear a cardigan. Don’t wear more than one shirt. Don’t wear pants.”   
  
“Why are we friends?” Charles rolls his eyes, already heading towards his closet.   
  
“I’m glad you asked, I have bullet points,” Erik begins and Charles can hear him laughing, the bastard.   
  
-   
  
Alex doesn’t realize how much he cares about the stupid state title until Bobby is pressing their foreheads together and shouting motivational bullshit to rile everyone up. His blood feel ecstatic and he’s not a human being again until he assists a shot that Bobby makes and the buzzer rings and a pulse of shock runs through his body. They’ve won.   
  
Darwin is shouting and jumping around and Alex can barely feel victorious before the stands rush the court. Bobby nearly knocks him over. Raven climbs Logan’s back but when he looks up to the stands, Scott isn’t there. Alex can barely feel victorious.   
  
-   
  
The party is actually in the forest, with cars parked seemingly in no order all over the place. Speakers frame the crowd, playing loud classic rock and a group of people are dancing obnoxiously at the center. Some blokes in letterman jackets are all standing off to one side, laughing and toasting loudly. Charles spots Alex in their midst and quickly averts his eyes. He’s not here for Alex.   
  
Erik rounds up some drinks and some girls and Charles is instantly distracted. The alcohol stings going down but not after the third drink and Charles has never been a lightweight. Moira is a gorgeous girl, all toned muscles and bright eyes, her skin glows in her cheerleading uniform. Her fingers are thin, lips rosy, and she talks in his ear even though he can hear her just fine. Time passes slowly, caught underneath the heat of her body.   
  
When she stumbles, drunk already, he leans into her ear and says, “Alright, love?,” and he can feel the full body tremor that passes through her. It’s the accent that does it; Charles has used it to get what he wants before. Moira leans back to look him in the eye as she talks and says, “Right as rain,” then perks as the song changes. “Do you want to dance?”   
  
Charles turns to Erik, “How many drinks have I had?”   
  
Erik holds up his fingers, undisturbed from his staring match with Angel Salvadore and that’s five more than Charles remembers having. “And vodka,” Eriks adds, grinning at Angel, “Polish made.”   
  
Charles tries to stand from the car hood he’s sitting on and Erik pushes him back down with a casually outstretched arm. “Oh, bugger,” Charles swears, “That’s a lot—fucking hell.”   
  
“He best not,” Erik says.   
  
Moira giggles, unperturbed, “That’s okay,” she smiles, “How about I dance with Raven and you watch?”   
  
“Who’s Raven?” Charles asks, shouting over dubstep.   
  
Moira points out into the distance where a blonde haired girl is grinding with a basketball player, her skirt hitching and clouds of dust rising at their feet. Charles glances at Moira as she trots off with her fingers clutching her skirt teasingly.   
  
“She wants you, mate,” Erik announces but when he looks over, Angel is straddling Erik on the hood of the car, so it’s possible Erik was talking to himself.   
  
Charles says, “I’ve always liked ravens,” and wanders away on wobbly legs.   
  
Moira, hands full with Raven, doesn’t notice.   
  
-   
  
It takes Raven exactly seventeen minutes to abandon him, saying she needs another drink and disappearing. Alex pretends he doesn’t see her grinding with Logan five minutes later. He sits in the cab of his beat up pickup truck, parked away from the crowd, isolated and undisturbed, nursing a beer. His letterman jacket feels itchy and he hangs it over the steering wheel, staring at the stitching of the word ‘Summers.’   
  
Alex doesn’t understand why he’s here, why he cares about trivial things, why he bothers trying to impress Scott. Scott said he would be there, Scott promised, and now Alex is sitting in an empty pickup truck, drinking shitty beer and not accomplishing one damn thing. It’s all so fucking pointless. He should drive back home and visit his grandmother. She’d like to hear about his state title.   
  
He feels like shit enough without Darwin trying to cheer him up, without Raven, or Bobby, he doesn’t need anyone. He especially doesn’t need Charles Xavier to stumble through a patch of trees and climb into the bed of his truck.   
  
“What—what are you doing?” Alex stutters. “I mean, what is actually happening?”   
  
“As opposed to what’s fictionally happening?” Charles says, brow completely serious, which is ridiculous for how he’s stretched into some sort of up upward facing dog position. “Or what you’re hallucinating?”   
  
“What.” Alex says.   
  
“I’ve never been in a pickup truck before,” Charles says, twisting to lay on his back. “Do you pickup things much?”   
  
“Uh,” Alex smiles, realizing Charles isn’t entirely sober. “Sure. Whatever needs up-picking, I’m your guy.”   
  
“Do you pick up girls?” Charles asks. “Girls like you, I’d bet.”   
  
Alex rubs the back of his neck uncomfortably. “Girls aren’t really my…”   
  
Charles waves a hand in a dismissive gesture, “No, nor mine,” he laughs, arching his back and turning over to cat crawl towards Alex. “Though Moira certainly was. Yet, look where I am now.”   
  
Alex unlatches the door to the bed and Charles smirks invitingly as Alex climbs up. “Why  _are_  you here?”   
  
Charles sits back on his haunches, away from immediate reach. “Has she got a name?”   
  
“Who?”   
  
“She,” Charles clarifies, petting the truck’s bed delicately.   
  
“Oh,” Alex swallows, mouth dry, watching Charles’ fingers stroke the chipping red paint. “Georgia.”   
  
“Georgia,” Charles repeats, rolling the word effortlessly. He looks back at Alex and decides, “’S a good name.”   
  
“It’s my home state,” Alex finds himself saying. He’s never told Sean about this nor Raven or Darwin.   
  
“Why’d you move up here, then?”   
  
“It was just me and my grandmother in Atlanta. But she died, so I had to come up here to live with my brother.”   
  
“I’m sorry,” Charles says softly, “I shouldn’t have asked.”   
  
Alex shakes his head. “It’s alright, that was a long time ago.”   
  
The wind picks up and Alex finds himself shivering, letterman jacket left on the dashboard. Charles pulls tighter on the leather jacket he’s wearing. “Are you cold?” he asks.   
  
Alex shrugs, “I’m alright.”   
  
“I would offer to share my jacket,” Charles tugs at the leather sleeves, “But I’m afraid it doesn’t belong to me. I may have stolen it, I don’t quite recall.” Charles frowns.   
  
“It’s Erik’s,” Alex offers, sitting against the truck bed wall. “The jacket you’re wearing is Erik’s. You wear it all the time. So does he. Erik.”   
  
“And who is Erik?” Charles says, crawling to sit next to him.   
  
“He’s the guy you came with,” Alex says, knocking back the rest of the brew and setting it down. “He’s the guy you’re going home with.”   
  
“That’s funny,” Charles says, turning to face Alex. “I wanted to go home with you.”   
  
“We’re not a couple.” Alex informs, all of a sudden cotton-mouthed.   
  
“Neither am I with Erik.” Charles says, crawling between Alex’s legs.   
  
“You’re drunk,” Alex says, but he can barely hear his voice over the blood thudding in his ears.   
  
“I wasn’t yesterday,” he replies, dropping into Alex’s lap, “when you were eating ice cream and mouthing at the cone. I wasn’t drunk and,” Charles rocks down into Alex’s hips, breathing into his ear, “ _God_ , I wanted to shag you.”   
  
Alex can’t even argue he was eating carrots yesterday before Charles is kissing him. His mouth is hot and tastes like vodka. Alex brings his hands to Charles’ hips, touching slope of his back tentatively through his jacket. His mouth parts for the pressure of Charles’ tongue and Alex doesn’t notice his hands clenching helplessly in the leather.   
  
_It’s Friday_ , thinks Alex. Charles is sucking on his tongue and digging his knees into the metal of the truck bed to grind into Alex. The bed is creaking obscenely, Charles is rolling his hips to create a rough friction through their jeans and cupping the back of Alex’s neck and it’s not enough. Alex is getting hard,  _Charles Xavier_  is grinding in his lap and their kissing is turning into uncoordinated gasping and all Alex can think is  _it’s Friday_ .   
  
Charles pulls back for a moment. “Alex,” he gasped. “I really want to blow you,” and punctuates this idea with another roll of hips. He’s hard; Alex can feel the instant heat through his jeans, against his own growing arousal.   
  
Alex groans, head swimming but he squeezes Charles’ ass and drags him forward to slot their hips together in a rougher grind. “Not right now,” he says and his voice is gravelly, “I want you to kiss me right now. Just—“   
  
Charles complies, tangling his fingers in Alex’s hair and tugging possessively. Alex relaxes into it, taking Charles’ mouth in languid strokes and sliding his hands beneath the thin cotton of the shirt Charles is wearing. His skin is hot against Alex’s cold hands and Charles shudders as Alex rakes the bones of his knuckles up the knots of Charles’ spine. “Tickles,” Charles murmurs.   
  
Alex laughs, because it’s just a little bit ridiculous, before Charles cuts it off with another kiss. Alex matches him, trying to keep his head as Charles moans into his mouth. The rumble of his throat shoots sparks through him and Alex grips his back and his hips, guiding.   
  
Then Charles is catching his breath and closing chaste kisses on his lips when it occurs to Alex what is actually happening. Charles is brilliant, so subtle, cunningly redefining everything that crosses his path, redefining and revising and carving. Something burns in Alex’s chest just looking at him and before he knows what he really means to do, he flips them so Charles is lying on the truck bed and Alex looms over him.   
  
His boxers are uncomfortably wet with precome but it’s not about that anymore. Charles is sucking kisses on his neck and rocking up for contact and Alex holds him still. Alex feels the burning in his chest, his throat and his stomach, the disappointment and the alcohol, the phantom pressure of Darwin’s hands at his shoulder during a huddle, and it burns away. He kisses Charles until his arms are shaking and Charles turns them over.   
  
Charles kisses his cheeks and his mouth and says, “Alex Summers, I wish you knew my name.”   
  
“Charles!”   
  
Charles scrambles off jumping to the ground and stumbling. Alex sits up just as Erik emerges from the woods and Charles crashes into his arms. “There you are, old chap. I reckon we should be off now. Emma’s here and apparently she’s good mates with Angel. She wasn’t very happy to find us together,” Erik laughs ruefully.   
  
“Do you reckon?” Charles mocks. “Is a thing that you reckon?”   
  
“Uh,” Erik says, “Yes,” he takes Charles around the waist, “We’ll be off now. Walk with me.”   
  
Charles half twists and salutes Alex, “It was nice meeting you, Mr. Summers. Congratulations on your victory. I must now,” he hiccups, “take my leave. Farewell.”   
  
Alex sits still and feels absolutely sick.   
  
“Summers,” Erik says, letting Charles wander away again, “You’re Alex Summers?”   
  
-   
  
On Saturday morning, Charles wakes up face down on Erik’s bedroom floor and just barely makes it to the toilet before he is sick. Erik’s cat, Magneto, stares at him judgingly and Charles does his best not to feel offended.   
  
As he crawls back into bed, Erik laughs, “You’re a vision in vomit yellow.”   
  
“Piss off,” Charles pleads and falls back to sleep. He dreams of peaches and fuchsia colored cat collars.   
  
-   
  
Saturday morning, Alex is sitting with Scott at the breakfast table when his coach calls. He says “good morning” and “you’re a good man, Alex” and he sighs deeply. Schmidt High has contested the game. The coach has accused the starters of cheating. The administration is launching an investigation.   
  
Alex goes down to a clinic and pees in a cup, bleeds in a vial. He’s got nothing to hide and neither do his boys but not even the coach can look him in the eye. Darwin’s mother clings to his shoulders, the same way Darwin has done to Alex before, and cries that her boy isn’t a cheater.   
  
-   
  
Magneto flounces after Charles the entire day, meowing constantly and being a general annoyance. Whenever Charles tries to get rid of him, he licks his paws innocently and crawls behind Erik’s leg. Nothing stops him, though, he even plops onto the sink when Charles is showering and Erik, chewing his thumbnail and laughing, is of no help. “He likes you,” Erik says, smiling affectionately at the cat.   
  
“He’s just as irritating as his owner,” Charles says and gets kicked under the table.   
  
-   
  
Darwin paces all over Alex’s kitchen, scuffing the floors carelessly and completely missing the wary looks Scott is shooting him. He’s been doing it since they got back from the clinic and Raven can’t get him to stop. “Just sit down for a moment, would you?”   
  
“I’m too anxious,” he says.   
  
“We’re all anxious,” Sean argues from the doorway, “just sit the fuck down, you’re making us all worse.”   
  
“You weren’t even playing,” he returns, “what the fuck do you care!”   
  
“And where’s your fucking second string, then? He’s not sitting in this room, is he? I’m on the team, too, Darwin, injured or not—“   
  
“Stop it,” Raven shouts. “The last thing we need is for you two to start fighting. We need to figure this out. Both of you sit down.”   
  
Sean and Darwin take a seat, pulling forth extra chairs in awkward positions at the full kitchen table. “Where is that bastard anyway? Remy?”   
  
“He’s not answering,” Raven says, fiddling with her phone, frustrated. “He’s probably still asleep, he was really fucked up last night.”   
  
Bobby leans forward on the table and after all these years, he still looks like a freshman. “So what. What are we going to do?”   
  
“First,” Scott says from the opposite side of the room, “you all need to tell me right now. Did any of you cheat?”   
  
A chorus of indignant curses burst forth. Logan leans back in his chair and says, “I didn’t know your brother was an asshole, Alex.”   
  
“Says the six-year senior,” Scott hisses in return.   
  
“Enough.” Alex says. It’s louder than he means for it to be, but he can’t help himself. There are too many people in this room, and all of them are fighting the wrong battle. “Be as offended as you want, if you say you didn’t cheat, it better be the truth otherwise, I’ll kick you off my team myself. Logan, Scott, if you aren’t being helpful, why are you in this room?”   
  
Scott rolls his eyes behind his glasses but grabs his keys and his cell phone and leaves. “Call if anything.”   
  
The door shuts and the room is silent for a moment before Alex starts again. “Maybe we didn’t cheat but how many of us have drug tests that aren’t going to come back clean after last night? Darwin? Logan? Sean?”   
  
“It’s for my knee,” he says defensively.   
  
“That’s not the point,” Raven hisses at him.   
  
“Someone had to accuse us of cheating to get those tests. Someone who knew they weren’t going to be clean. It doesn’t mean they’re accusing us of steroids; they’re trying to drag our names through the mud. They were trying to hit us where it hurt, Bobby’s scholarship, the school’s support, the colleges we’ve been accepted to. They had to know what happened last night and ran straight to their coach.”   
  
“Shaw,” Sean says. “Shaw is just this brand of asshole.”   
  
“He can’t be that clever,” Raven says, “But with the Russian?”   
  
“Azazel,” Logan informs.   
  
“So how do we get them to drop the accusation before the drug tests come back?”   
  
Logan stands and starts collecting his cigarettes, “We do some persuasive talking.”   
  
Darwin stands, “I know a guy who can get us into his house.”   
  
“We all do,” Sean scoffs.   
  
Logan heads for the door, “Let’s pay Lehnsherr a visit then.”   
  
-   
  
Charles can hear them talking in Erik’s living room from where he’s sitting at the top of the stairs. He’s out of view but not earshot and the blokes from the basketball team aren’t here to dick around. They want Erik to get them face time with Shaw. They want Shaw buried.   
  
Charles had an inkling Alex would be there among them, but it doesn’t sink in until he hears him speak. His vowels are clipped between his clenched teeth and he says, “We can’t let him get away with this.”   
  
Charles knows what meeting with Shaw will do to him Erik is manic but he’s been good about the drugs and his temper since he stopped talking to Shaw. He’s been good about moving forward and seeing the world in a different light. Charles knows what will happen. He’s seen it, he’s held the results between his hands and he’ll be damned if Erik thinks he’s going to stay for that.   
  
Erik says he’s in, says, “I’m in,” says he’ll do it, says “on my own.” He says he’ll take care of Shaw, “don’t you boys worry.” Erik looks them all in the eye and chooses to see Shaw.   
  
Charles slams the back door on his way out.   
  
-   
  
Sunday, Charles eats peanut butter with his hands and doesn’t answer Erik’s calls. He watches the news.   
  
Sunday, Scott scrubs the kitchen floors and says, “You’d better not have done anything stupid, Alex.”   
  
-   
  
Monday, Erik is suspended and Charles sits at lunch on his own, reading a beat up copy of _A Tale of Two Cities_  and drinking atrocious tea from the school’s vending machines. Erik’s been calling him all weekend but Charles is determined not to budge on this. If Erik has chosen to go gallivanting with Shaw, then Charles wants nothing to do with him.   
  
“What are you reading?”   
  
Charles looks up to find Alex Summers standing over him. “A book,” he returns stonily.   
  
Alex sits down beside him. “Dickens. Ah. I failed that class.”   
  
“Too busy partying then?”   
  
“And making out with guys in the back of my truck.”   
  
Charles hasn’t forgotten, he figured Alex had. Not that it matters much now, there are more pressing issues to deal with than a stupid schoolboy crush. Instead, he rolls his eyes and starts collecting his things to leave.   
  
“No, wait, wait, that was rude of me, I’m sorry,” Alex stammers, “Just sit for a moment.”   
  
Charles sighs and sits back down. “What do you want?”   
  
“I wanted to talk to you,” Alex starts, “To say you shouldn’t be angry with Erik.”   
  
“My anger or any other—“   
  
“Look at my boys over there, Charles.” Alex cuts him off, pointing to the table full of forlorn looking basketball players. “Bobby got a full ride to Notre Dame for what he does on the court. Darwin got into Princeton with the game on his back. Sean’s the first one in his family to go to college and he didn’t even play on Friday. Logan would be in jail if it wasn’t for the team. We’ve been together since Freshman year.   
  
“Look, I know you and Erik have a history with Shaw but there’s no reason for you to be angry with him,” Alex’s eyes are glassy when Charles looks back at him. “He’s doing a good thing for a bunch of good kids. Shaw was at the party on Friday. He knew that not everyone’s test was going to come back clean. But before that, they were clean, I promise you.” Alex stands, “In the meantime, everything my team has worked for is on the line. If you’re going to be mad, be angry with me or with Shaw, but not Erik. He’s a good person.”   
  
Charles almost lets him walk away, “And who are you?”   
  
“I’m,” Alex sighs, turning to face him, “I’m their captain.”   
  
-   
  
The door to Erik’s room is unlocked when Charles gets to his house. Erik is sitting on the floor, facing the wall. There’s a deck of cards in his hands and even as they tremble, he shuffles the deck expertly. Charles drops his book bag in a chair and sits on Erik’s bed, but doesn’t dare presume a conversation.   
  
“When we were children,” Erik begins without prompt, “I watched him kill a kitten,” the deck is still, “in broad daylight. It was our neighbor’s cat, and he lured it with a can of tuna and tied it up in a sack, I don’t even know where he got a sack like that. He used my bat, a metal one my father bought me for turning seven.” Erik breathes through his nose, shuddering, “And he hit it three times. Three cracks, it was horrible, the crunch, and he was so excited but I made him stop. After three, I made him stop. I should have stopped him sooner. “   
  
Erik looks back at Charles, eyes wide. “I made him _stop_ Charles, I swear, and I let him out of the bag but there was so much blood, there was—“ he gasps, “and I couldn’t—I was only a kid, I couldn’t help—the poor—“ his eyes are wet, ringed red. “He even scratched me,” he offers the underside of his arm, where jagged gashes have scarred him. “And then it died. I ran, Charles, I was so scared, I ran, I was  _just a fucking kid and he—he—_ “ Erik kicks the wall in spontaneous fury.   
  
Charles watches his shoulder heaves as Erik tries to collect himself. He watches Erik for so long his voice sticks in his throat. “I never told anyone. He was my best friend.”   
  
“What happened today?” Charles asks tentatively.   
  
Erik moves to lay on his bed next to Charles, breathing slowly and rubbing his eyes. “Nothing. Nothing happened. I went out there, I sat in his kitchen with his stupid patterned place mats and his mother served me apple juice. It was fucking insane; he was chewing on a toothpick and walking around with that cunt, Azazel, like he was his bodyguard. Nothing happened.   
  
“I asked him to drop it and he gave me this look. He looked right at me, in my eyes, and he said we’d always be best friends. ‘I’ll only ever understand you and you’ll only ever understand me, Erik,’ he said. He was—he fucking smiled at me and said ‘Don’t be that beast, Erik.’” Erik breathes deeply, “He says he’ll drop the charges. Those blokes will all be alright, the tests are trash. No one will ever see the results, because Shaw deems it.  _Shaw deems it for me._ ”   
  
“How are you feeling?”   
  
Erik sniffs, shrugging. “I’ll be alright, I sort of want to hug Magneto but I can’t find the insufferable puss. He hides in the strangest places.”   
  
As if on cue, Magneto slinks into the room, and hops into Charles’ lap, twisting his tail happily in the air. Charles catches it and twirls It between his fingers. Magneto purrs his approval and then crawls onto Erik’s belly. Charles watches them interact for a moment and can’t help but ask, “So, you’re going to be alright? We aren’t having a repeat of last winter?”   
  
“Nope,” Erik says, smiling fondly at Magneto as he bats at his fingers. “Besides, you’re my best friend now.”   
  
“Oh, Erik,” Charles teases, fanning himself dramatically. “I had no idea you felt this way about me. What will my father say?”   
  
Erik rolls his eyes.   
  
-   
  
Scott hangs up the phone and turns to Alex, “Your coach said you’re all cleared.”   
  
Alex nods and grabs his jacket. He picks up Darwin and Bobby and they sit on the back of his truck, nursing beers, parked at Rock Cliff, trying to feel victorious again.   
  
Scott never once says, “I know you didn’t do it, Alex. I believe in you. You’re a good kid.”   
  
Darwin says, “It doesn’t matter. They’re not gonna believe us.”   
  
-   
  
Darwin was right. The investigation was dropped and their names cleared but on Tuesday, nothing changes. People whisper their names in the hallways and no one talks to Raven while she walks among them. Their own school has shunned them.   
  
Charles and Erik watch their table, all slumped shoulders and dropped brow lines and stand up to sit among them.   
  
-   
  
During sixth period the Assistant Principle calls Alex down. When he slumps into the chair, Charles is sitting in the one beside him. “What’s going on?”   
  
“Mister Xavier, Mister Summers,” says the AP, “It has come to my attention that neither of you have been participating in the Students Tutor program you both registered for. Would either of you like to offer an explanation?”   
  
Charles opens his mouth to speak, “Actually, I—“   
  
Alex interrupts by hacking loudly and inelegantly for a considerable amount of time. Charles gets the hint and shuts his mouth. The AP frowns at them, sagged wrinkles at his forehead. “You are now paired together. Meet at the library tomorrow, during your lunch period. The librarian will be logging your hours.” The AP rolls his eyes, “And get some water for that cough, Summers. Nationals are coming up.”   
  
-   
  
Alex arrives at the library, five minutes late, carrying a book bag and eating apple slices. As soon as he walks in, the librarian scolds him for the food but he only pretends to throw it out. Charles watches their exchange and raises an eyebrow at Alex, “You’re late.”   
  
“Oh no,” Alex deadpans, “Whatever will I do? Let’s go in the back so she won’t see me eating.”   
  
“How much food did you bring?”   
  
“Enough to share,” Alex waggles his eyebrows promisingly.   
  
Charles rolls his eyes but moves to the back anyway. The last two tables in the back are free and all the other student tutors are absorbed in the bindings of their books, pencils poised beneath whispered conversations. Alex dumps his bag heavily on the desk and Charles takes it upon himself to apologize for disturbing the silence.   
  
They settle into a huddle with a Pre-Calculus book and pass apple slices back and forth. “ Here,” Charles points with an apple slice, “is Pascal’s Triangle.”   
  
Alex stares at the textbook, resolutely unimpressed and chewing softly. “Okay.”   
  
Charles opens his mouth, ready to launch into the core idea and its application so they can move further into the curriculum but Alex cuts him off, waving Nutella dipped apple slices, “Wait, wait. Why do I need this?”   
  
“Ah,” Charles smiles, “You’re getting ahead of me, we’re going to cover a lot in this, so let’s just cover the basics first and then we’ll work it into our work.”   
  
“Uh,” Alex swallows, “Why? I don’t need this, do I? Is it like Schrodinger’s Cat or something that you gave to understand allusions for?”   
  
“Can we touch on this first, Alex?” Charles asks, frowning.   
  
“Fine,” he raises his hands in surrender, smiling slightly.   
  
Charles continues but knows Alex isn’t paying attention. Charles isn’t paying attention much himself. Alex is peeling grapes and sucking on them before swallowing them whole. His cheeks hollow obscenely but when Charles glances at him, Alex smiles with a grape caught between his teeth. Charles can feel the back of his neck growing hot but doesn’t think about grape juice.   
  
“So,” Alex says when Charles finishes, “I don’t get it.”   
  
“Okay, that’s fine,” Charles says, “Which part?”   
  
“How does this have to do with,” his smirk widens, “nineteenth century literature?”   
  
“What?” Charles furrows his brow.   
  
“Oh, Charles,” Alex smiles, putting a hand to his shoulder, “I know Pascal’s Triangle and Magic Elevens, I know Archimedes and Newton and Tesla and the guy with the ohms—Ohm. I’m taking the tutoring credit for English I, first semester, nineteenth century literature.”   
  
“Oh,” Charles says and his cheeks flush with embarrassment. His voice rises in octaves as he talks. “Oh. Oh. Right, you’ve mentioned that you failed that class. I—uh, suppose we won’t be needing this, then,” he shuffles the book and picks it up, standing and scraping his chair across the floor loudly. “I’ll just—just get a copy of—the other—“   
  
Alex watches him stumble away into the book shelves and doesn’t understand exactly what just happened. He carries a handful of grapes and eats happily as he trots after Charles into the stacks.   
  
-   
  
Charles is leaning against a stack of books in the nonfiction section when Alex finds him. He’s muttering to himself and rubbing the back of his neck furiously. Alex eases up to him, mouth turned down in concern. “Hey, are you alright?”   
  
Charles isn’t even surprised; he just looks over at Alex and glares at him, “Why?”   
  
“What?”   
  
He pauses for a moment then says, “No, nothing, nevermind,” smiling like nothing has happened. It unsettles Alex how easy that is for Charles.   
  
“No, what’s wrong?”   
  
“Alex, it’s nothing,” he straightens, “Which book would you like to start with? A Bronte?”   
  
“Ugh, no,” Alex objects but then frowns, “Wait. Don’t do that, I was asking you a question. I’m trying to be nice here.”   
  
“Right,” Charles grits his teeth, “And it isn’t necessary. All’s well. Where would you like to start?”   
  
“Why are you being like this all of a sudden?” Alex feels the last grape burst inside the curl of his fist.   
  
“Why are you?” Charles snaps back.   
  
“What?”   
  
Alex’s brow drops further and Charles can’t not think about the grapes anymore. “Why are you acting like this? Like we’re mates? Because you owe Erik? Because we made out in the back of your car and you want a repeat performance? I mean, what the fuck do you want?” his whispers are harsh and his cheeks flush angrily. “What are you actually doing?”   
  
For a moment, Alex can’t even breathe. The words are stirred into his throat but he doesn’t know where to begin. “I—you—this,” and the blood roaring his chest is loud enough that he can’t even hear himself. “No. No.  _No._ ” He crowds Charles into the shelves, pinning his hips to the wood.   
  
He’s kissing Charles before he can objects, bodies drawn together and back into the books about Marxist history. His mouth is just as plush and warm as Alex remembers, opening to the embrace almost immediately. The brush of Charles’ tongue jolts him out of his blind rage and he breaks apart, but only far enough to speak. The grape is crushed beneath his hand, juice trickling messily between his fingers. “I—I’ve been hunting these fragments for months, a piece of you or of the game or of my brother, some victory, some joy, anything I can get, but I’m sick to death of it. Everything went wrong that night, the school hates us, Scott doesn’t believe me and you think I’m trying to exploit you or do Erik a favor and _I’m not._ I’m not. You were the only good thing that came out of that night.”   
  
“And?” Charles asks, his voice is rougher than he would be like, “What does that mean?”   
  
“It means I want that back but I don’t want you in fragments. I want all of you. I’ve wanted since you took the piano that day in music.”   
  
“That was months ago,” Charles says, sounding perplexed.   
  
Alex looks almost pained, “I know.”   
  
Charles could kick himself. “I can’t. This is embarrassing.”   
  
Alex laughs, “It’s incredible.”   
  
“But, hold on,” he closes his eyes so he can think, pushing Alex back a bit, “You were always asking my name. I thought you couldn’t be bothered to know who I was.”   
  
Alex groans, “Oh, god, I’m so stupid, I was just trying to get you to pay attention to me. Raven warned me you would think that. Goddamn it.”   
  
“Smart girl,” Charles smiles wanly.   
  
“I’m sorry,” Alex says and he closes the space between them again, speaking against his mouth. “I’m sorry that you were drunk and I’m too stupid to properly communicate with other human beings. I’m sorry about Erik, Logan told me he and Shaw had a rough past and I still went to him when I should’ve handled my own problems like an adult. And I’m sorry I failed freshman English, it was only one semester and my grandmother has just passed away and I was starting at a new school in a new state and I was so angry with Scott and the world—but you, you’re from England, so it should come naturally and I—probably, hopefully, won’t be unteachable—“   
  
Charles laughs, and decides to take mercy on Alex. “That’s quite enough talk,” he says and bites Alex’s lip. That’s more than enough conformation for Alex and he crushes their mouths together, simultaneously trying to breathe through the rush of elation. They break apart and Charles chases his mouth, humming pleasantly. “You taste like grapes,” he says, hiking his leg around Alex’s waist to grind.   
  
Alex frowns, “Is that good or—“   
  
Charles nods, “Yes,” sighing as Alex moves in hot waves against him, their clothes rustling loudly in his ears. “ _Yes._ ”   
  
A book on Fidel Castro is digging into Charles’ back but all he can think about is how fuchsia kitten collars and communism and kids named Bobby are all part of his fate.   
  
-   
  
Charles is lounging on Alex’s bed, shirtless with his belt unbuckled when Scott knocks. This is the farthest they’ve gotten since their decision post-library frottage to treat their relationship soberly, so of course Scott knocks. Charles hides his face in Alex’s pillows, cheeks flushed, “Bloody hell!”   
  
Alex clambers up to answer the door, “What!”   
  
Scott raises an eyebrow, “Am I interrupting something?”   
  
“Yes,” Alex snarls in time with Charles shouting, “No!”   
  
“Uh-huh, whatever, there’s people here for you. Raven and some dude and Logan.”   
  
Alex thumps his head on the door frame. Charles starts rustling around behind him, “What time is it?”   
  
“A quarter past four,” Scott supplies.   
  
“Goddamn it,” Alex murmurs in time with Charles shouting, “Blimey! Already?”   
  
Charles throws a shirt at the back of his head, “Alex, get dressed, we’ve got to go, you’ll be late.”   
  
Alex pulls it over his head even though it’s not clean and Charles steps into his shoes, grabs Alex’s gym bag—already prepared—and heads out. “I’ll go babysit Erik and Logan. Hurry.”   
  
Charles goes and leaves Scott standing in his doorway as Alex ties himself into his shoes. Scott is silent but not for long. “I—uh, I would go but I have to—“   
  
“Whatever, man,” Alex stands and grabs his jacket. Scott’s excuses are all played these days. “I don’t know when I’ll be home, maybe tomorrow.”   
  
Scott shrugs, “That’s okay, just be careful.”   
  
“Sure,” Alex says, heading for the door. “I’ll call,” but he knows he won’t.   
  
Outside, Logan is blasting heavy guitar riffs and smoking while Erik leans over his seat to talk to Raven, even though she looks unimpressed. Charles is in the back seat, reading a book, of all things, and Alex can’t even be sure where he got it from, they seem to just appear from various places on his person.   
  
“Good luck,” Scott says.   
  
Alex laughs, because Scott is ridiculous sometimes and his boys are waiting and Charles is waiting. “I don’t need luck,” he says, “this is fate.”


End file.
